


Souls Of The Damned

by GraveyardDisco



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen, This is an mcr fic i swear, and clever, its pretty cool, this guy is in the land of the dead, trust me read the first words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-16 13:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21508549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraveyardDisco/pseuds/GraveyardDisco
Summary: First ever mcr fic, back in 2016. It barely counts as an mcr fic, but just read the beginning of the paragraphs, trust me.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Souls Of The Damned

When I was a youth, this city was the pinnacle of excellence. The streets were swept and the people were happy. Now the moon shone broken, and the stars had fallen from the sky. Smelling like death and sadness, with roads reflecting no light of the lamps. I walked along the old streets, listening to the wails of a dead civilization.

A young boy ran up to me, face bruised and marred with dirt. “Hello sir, welcome to the void of drifters. May I take your coat?” I brushed him away with a wave of my hand, but not unkindly.

My father took me into the city when I was but a lad. Small enough to sit on his shoulders. Waiting in a car for half an hour just to see a parade. It smelled like popcorn and hot dogs, very exciting for a young boy. 

“To see a marching band,” he said, “is but a gift. One you should cherish. But if you should see the inverse, well son, there's no saving you then.” I still think on what he could've meant sometimes. But back then I paid no worry, just enjoying the sweets in life and laughing at the fun.

He said, "Son, when you grow up you'll understand more. Just enjoy the time you have now and don't worry on it too much.” He was always like that. Scared for what the future might hold.

“Would you be the savior of the broken?” the boy’s small voice broke me from my thoughts. “What do you mean by that, child?” “Oh sorry sir, it's what my papa always said. ‘Light shall wake when the savior of the broken sets it free.’” I smiled at him. So young like I had been. Still filled with hope.

The beaten and the damned stood in the shadows. Souls begging to be let go. Wishing to not be trapped in an eternity of torture any longer.  
Such suffering had existed here. The deaths of thousands had left behind fractures of souls screaming for help.

He said, "Will you defeat them? Sir? The oppressors and the mighty? Please let us free.” The boy's face changed then, the end words echoing with thousands, as his face was morphing into the gaunt, empty stare of one long past. I jumped, startled by the sudden transformation. They then spoke with one voice, and one intent.

“Your demons, and all the non-believers have taken this place. Your soul, so free and pure, draws the attention of those that you seek. Continue now, o hero, and find what awaits you.” One voice, but heard a thousand times. With the same ringing tone, cutting through silence all around.

“The plans that they have made?” I wondered aloud. But it seemed the souls were done with speaking, content for me to find my own way. So I set off without them, trusting I'd find my goal.

"Because one day I'll leave you, son. I'll leave you and then where will you go? What will you do without me to protect you?” My father's voice echoed in my head as I progressed forward through collapsed buildings and torn up streets. A humming, felt through the ground, was growing more steady as I moved forward.

A phantom came to stand by me, walking in time to my footsteps. Drifting without a soul, the ill intentions of a powerful being its only life force. My sounds rung through the street, but the phantom glided over reality, leaving no trace. Then, it turned to me with its hood lacking a face and spoke what I'd dared not think.

“To lead you in the summer, we were created here. When your father passed, we were made as guides for you.” I tried not to shudder at the voice. Detached and inhuman. All the sounds a human should make, but nothing living about it. Then, it faced toward the way to go and floated along beside me.

To join the black parade, was nothing you'd ever want to do. But as I took the hand of the ruler of chaos, surrounded by the screaming and the soulless, I knew I had no choice. This was the inverse my father spoke of. The parallel marching band of death and memory. And yet I stood there, having failed to save but a fly, I knew there was nothing I could do. So I looked up to the king's dead eyes and said,

“Hello dad.”


End file.
